


Fml, I'm Trapped in a Self-Insert Fic

by dance4thedead



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/dance4thedead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both a formal analysis and an attempt to deconstruct the literary trope of ... wait, who am I kidding? Save me! Save me, please! Pluto is chewing on my shoe!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

Please ignore my shitty narration, but that's all that I could manage right now with the adrenaline of almost dying running through my veins.

I don't handle stress well, and it was a mistake to pull another all-nighter to finish my Art History paper. Well, an almost all-nighter. I got half an hour of sleep because I passed out with a text book as fat as a freaking phone book still in my lap. The alarm on my phone went off at 6:45 and I smashed the snooze button on that thing at least four times, probably putting another crack in that already broken screen. I dragged my sorry ass out of my dorm room bed, moaning like a fucking zombie and not giving a damn if I woke up my two other roommates. Screw them for taking easier classes this semester, my course load slowly eroded away at my spirit, and by week seven I was running on nothing but caffeine and the ever present fear of losing my scholarships.

I ended up throwing on a head band, wrap skirt, and flipflops over what I was already wearing, before dumping a couple spoonfuls of instant coffee into a plastic mug, filling it with lukewarm water, and racing outside to catch the last possible bus that could take me to class on time. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, college finals were trying to kill me.

So I was beyond surprised when I found myself lying flat on my back on the floor of a giant freaking house when I was on bus clinging to the stanchion literally two seconds ago. My mind went went directly to the most logical conclusion: I am dead, freshman year really did kill me, and now I'm in purgatory.

I was pissed. You don't even understand how fucking mad I was. I survived months of college hell, consuming nothing other than ramen noodles, whatever grub the cafeteria decided to serve up that day, and large quantities of tea and watered down coffee … and I was ready to do it all over again for the next three year to get that diploma officially declaring I had BFA in Dramatic Writing.

Anyway, I sat up clutching my head because I had another stupid migraine and the lights in the room I was in were making me want to upchuck what little breakfast (does coffee count as breakfast?) I had all over the polished checkered floor.

There was a gun pointed at me. I couldn't even tell who was pointing it at me because I was so hyper-focused on the GUN in MY FACE.

I was instantly a babbling mess. I think the coherent words I said roughly strung together to form “Please no don't shoot me, I have no money I swear,” which was accurate, at least.

I didn't want to die there. I had a parents, a sister, friends that mattered to me … I left them two months ago and didn't I say goodbye the way I would have wanted to if I knew I was never going to see them again. But it was no use thinking about those things now, I needed to focus on getting away by whatever means necessary.

“What's your name?” said the voice of a young man.

I could not for the life of me tear my eyes away from the hole at the end of the gun. I didn't know gun anatomy or anything about weapons, but my dumb brain was already imagining a piece of metal being fired out of it and me bleeding to death in a very graphic, painful way.

The end of the gun-thing was pressed to me cheek and I started to freak out even more.

“Answer me,” the young man said, “or I'll have my butler remove your fingers.”

I tried to get words out, but I was choking on my own phlegm because I was crying and I didn't even know when I started doing that.

“Sebastian,” the young man said, his voice thick with authority. I screamed something unintelligible, balling my hands into fists, but those were quickly pried open and my index finger was held by slender, gloved digits.

I swallowed down a mouthful of mucus and finally feebly croaked out as I stared at the gun, “dance4thedead … that's what I'm know as on some parts of the internet!”

“My young master asked for your name, and you responded with a _username_?” asked a different voice, sounding amused. He sounded so familiar for some reason…

“What are you both going on about? What is an inter-net?”

“It's a bit difficult to explain, but I do believe this young woman is from the future.”

“Or a mad house, by what she's wearing.”

“My lord, there are things she could know that could be of benefit to you.”

“I won't make a habit of sparing uninvited strangers.”

“She doesn't seem to be able to pose a threat to you even if she wanted to.”

“I suppose you're right.”

The gun was removed from my face and I collapsed back on the floor.

“Sebastian, put her somewhere she can't escape from.”

“Yes, my lord.”

I looked up at their faces before I was dragged out in the room, and upon recognizing them, that's when it finally hit me:

Fuck my life, I'm the hostage of two fictional characters.

 


	2. Get to the plot already

The bedroom I was stuffed in wasn't the worst of places to be. There weren't any windows, but at least there was a bed and a gas lamp, as well as a small table and chairs, one of which I was sitting in. To be honest, it was better than the freshman dorms.

My nerves were starting to calm down. I wasn't _that_ bad off. This was the Kuroverse I was trapped in. I could have been popped into _the Walking Dead_ or _Supernatural_ , at least I had a _chance_  at surviving here.

After about an hour, another character came into the room and put a plate of food in front of me. Toast. Burnt toast. Lovely.

“Mind if I stay?” he asked. “You look like you could use the company.”

I nodded, wiping the crud out of the corner of my eyes from all the gross sobbing I did. I picked up a piece of toast from the plate, scraping a layer of carbon off one of the pieces with a fingernail, as the character took the seat across from me at the table.

“Baldroy,” the character said, offering me his hand. I shook it awkwardly; I have a bad habit of dead-fishing my way through hand shakes, and the current situation wasn't helping.

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, throwing a cautious glance to the closed door before lighting up.

I inhaled deep. I wasn't a smoker; it was just mildly reassuring that in this bizarro world, a lit cigarette still smelled like a lit cigarette.

“So you're the new author-insert?” he asked, leaning back into his chair. I nearly choked on my food.

“Hmahwada?” was pretty much the sound that came out of my mouth after dislodging the food (if you could call it that) from my trachea.

“Author-insert.” He grinned. “You know, you're not the first person dropping in on us.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

“Although forgive me when I say this Miss, but you're kinda of uninteresting to look at. Your eyes are brown and your hair is black, I suppose you just didn't put that much effort into character concept, did you?”

“Ummm…”

“You got any skills? You super fast or good with knives or something?”

“…no.”

“Sheesh, you better hope you can be of some use to the young master, else you're really gonna be done for.”

I groaned. For once in my life, I wished I was a Mary Sue.


End file.
